Mascarin had adopted an air of familiarity which he knew would please
his companion.

"I don't care about the place," replied Florestan, "and I am going to
ask Beaumarchef to look out another one for me."

"I am surprised at that; all your predecessors said that the Count was a
perfect gentleman--"

"Just try him yourself," broke in the valet. "In the first place he is
as fickle as the wind, and awfully suspicious. He never leaves anything
about,--no letters, no cigars, and no money. He spends half his time in
locking things up, and goes to bed with his keys under his pillow."

"I allow that such suspicion on his part is most unpleasant."

"It is indeed, and besides he is awfully violent. He gets in a rage
about nothing, and half a dozen times in the day he looks ready to
murder you. On my word, I am really frightened at him."

This account, coupled with what he had heard from Hortebise seemed to
render Mascarin very thoughtful.

"Is he always like this, or only at intervals?"

"He is always a beast, but he is worse after drink or losing at cards.
He is never home until after four in the morning."

"And what does his wife say?"